


Hold Me Fast

by Fia126



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fia126/pseuds/Fia126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb will always be the song she remembers, he saved her, and that is more than any Florian could have done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Fast

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure whether or not to post this as I personally think that some of the writing is a bit stilted, so if you have any critique comment with it. I find editing my own work really difficult because I don't often see when there is an awkward way of reading it because I know in my head how it's meant to sound.

Robb doesn’t fathom why anyone should want to send Sansa away, he wouldn’t understand Winterfell without her, can’t remember the days when she wasn’t there. And so when his Lord Father tells him that she is to go south to marry the golden Prince, Robb loses his temper in a way Lord Eddard Stark has never seen his eldest son do.

_She still has time,_ he sobs after the anger subsides, _don’t take her away from me, Father, not yet._

And as his son begs on his knees, Ned Stark knows there is nothing he can do for this boy who has never before faltered in his confidence. Instead he tells him that he’d best say his farewells and watches as his son’s eyes become flat and dull.

 

* * *

 

Robb almost doesn’t want to say goodbye to Sansa, as if that means she’ll never leave, but he knows that if he wants to do it properly he needs this time, and so he goes to her bedroom and knocks lightly on her door.

She opens it only a crack and Robb sees the white flash of her teeth as she smiles and then lets him in.

“ _I knew you’d come,_ ” she whispers into his hair after he wraps his arms around her. And he did, he always would.

They spend the night quietly regaling stories in the shadowy room, and Robb documents every small smile and childish giggle because he knows that when he is Lord of Winterfell and she is Queen they won’t have time for this.

She tells him she wants to see Kings Landing and marry Joffrey, but she’s scared, she doesn’t want to leave Winterfell and their mother and Bran and Rickon, and most of all she doesn’t want to leave Robb.

Robb who she knows is her home as much as the walls of the room around her, Robb who is such an integral part of her. Robb who shares the burden of being the firstborn, who understands when the responsibility becomes too much, even when their other siblings don’t.

Robb who took her to the godswood when she was ten and had been hearing whispers of an engagement between her and some southron boy a little too far from home. Robb who had held her and promised heatedly that he would never let them.

Robb who had said that he would always be by her side.

But Robb couldn’t be by her side if he was in Winterfell and she in Kings Landing. A cruel thing, Robb thinks, that their being firstborn brought them closer together than all the others, and yet also means that he cannot follow her, that he must stay and be the Stark in Winterfell.

They part the next day, embracing with melting snowflakes in their auburn hair, as the Stark in Winterfell and the Queen to be.

 

* * *

 

When Robb marches into the throne room of Kings Landing to the sight of his sweet sister degraded and abused by her golden Prince, he vows to kill all these weak Southron lords and knights who have sat idly by as his sister suffers. His men caution him - there are no less than three kingsguard in the room, it would be folly to challenge Joffrey, and yet Robb goes forward because what else can he do?

It surprises him to see that only two of the whitecloaks step in front of Joffrey, but Robb knows that cruelty does not inspire loyalty, not even in a dog, and surely even the brutal Hound can see that Sansa is an innocent.

The hall has gone silent save for the few hushed shrieks of the women, but Sansa does not even look around from the floor, she _knows_ that Robb has come to save her like a knight from a song. It is the only song that Sansa thinks is true anymore. And so she picks up the torn pieces of her dress and arranges herself into some form of modesty, so that she can stand proud by her brother.

His adversaries watch Robb’s deathly silent ascent through the hall carefully, documenting his controlled walk, the comfortable way he grips the hilt of his sword, the quiet rage on his face. He stops by Sansa to lift her to her feet and she inclines her head to him.

“Brother,” she says in a calm voice, and he presses a kiss onto her fingers in response, his expression hard. She can imagine the thoughts of the southerners, how cold these northerners are, how impassive, but she knows that this is affection. This wintry storm of protection is more loving than any expensive gift.

And then Robb is gone from her side, his footsteps echoing up the stairs to the throne. His Northmen help him kill the whitecloaks, who lack the youth and rage to make it a fair fight. _It was not a fair fight when they hurt Sansa_ , Robb thinks, _so why should their deaths be fair?_

He kills the King himself, running his sword through his heart and then back into its ring on his waist.

He wraps his cloak around Sansa’s shoulders, and they walk proudly down the aisle with Robb’s sword still glistening red.

 

* * *

  

At the camp he spends the first few days and nights by her side as she recovers from her injury – she cannot walk for long, and even then Robb can see how every step causes her pain. He hates it, wishes she would stay in bed until it doesn’t hurt, but Sansa has other ideas. She wants to see everything, wants everyone to see that she is not weak, that she is still a wolf.

Robb thinks that there has never been a fiercer wolf, never a stronger one. He can see that she is becoming herself as they travel North once more, and he is glad, he wants her to be wild and radiant and his sister who understands responsibility.

It is one of the nights when Grey Wind is with Sansa when Robb slips into the wolf’s mind. Sansa is whimpering, her fingers knotted in his slate fur, she mumbles incoherently, panicking and shaking. Grey Wind wakes next to her and tries to nuzzle her face, but the closer he gets the more Sansa lashes out.

He untangles himself from her frantic hands and gets up, running to Robb, and Robb can hear his whining and scratching on the door. Robb wakes knowing, as he always does, that his sister needs him.

Sansa is still restless when Robb reaches her, and at first Robb doesn’t know what to do for this girl who has changed so much. The Sansa he knew had never had a bad dream when they were young and shared a bed sometimes.

But as he kneels next to the bed and strokes her hair, she calms down, because she knows, as she always does, that Robb will protect her, even in her dreams. 

He falls asleep next to her bed, his head resting lightly next to hers on the pillow, and when Catelyn goes to wake her daughter in the morning, she thinks she has not seen this much devotion in her son since he left Winterfell.

 

* * *

 

 It is Sansa who initiates it, because Robb is her home, and Sansa has not been home for so long. It isn’t what she originally intended when she went to Robb’s tent, only to find him at a council. She waits on his bed for him to come back and curls up on his furs, only waking when she hears him open the tent flap.

He is angry, she knows, she can see the tension in his stance, and as he takes off his crown and throws it to the floor she thinks she would be frightened if he were not her brother.

He doesn’t see her until he approaches the bed and finds her nestled in _his_ furs; her eyes are wide and blue like a clear winter morning. He wants nothing more than to rest his head in her lap and let her run her fingers through his hair, and he does, because in his tent with his sister he is Robb, not a King.

It is Sansa who lifts his head from her lap and places her lips so chastely on his own, but it is Robb who thinks that this can’t possibly be enough. With his anger still fresh in his mind, he pushes her back so that they are pressed together, body to body.

His sister, his sweet, perfect sister.

As he unlaces her bodice he tastes the salty skin he exposes, trailing kisses forever down her body, vowing never to stop this madness.

She was born to be a Queen, and she will be his.


End file.
